


When The Ones You Love Are There

by gelbes_gilatier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e10 The Return Part 1, Established Relationship, F/M, Holidays, Homecoming, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: In which we learn both the reason for Carson telling the rest of the Atlantis Command crew that calling Laura Cadman would be a bad idea in "The Return Part 1" and why Evan Lorne wasn't sitting at the dinner table when they gotthatcall.





	When The Ones You Love Are There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexycazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/gifts).



> I really hope my recipient likes this! To my surprise, it actually kind of wrote itself once I'd figured out how I wanted it to end (and I really do hope you like the ending especially), so I hope I hit the right note with it for you to work as a nice holiday gift (it's even holiday fic!). Happy holidays, everyone!

  
** When the Ones You Love Are There **

_“It’s the time of year when everyone’s together_   
_we’ll celebrate here on Christmas Day_   
_when the ones you love are there_   
_you can feel the magic in the air, you know it’s everywhere.”_

_Bryan Adams, “Christmas Time”_

  
Everything about this Christmas Day is exactly as it really shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be in Colorado Springs, she shouldn’t be wearing uniform, she shouldn’t be humping a backpack, and a duffle bag about twice her weight. And yet, here she is, doing all three and just getting off a damn plane to boot.

And all because she couldn’t say no to her ROTC battalion commander’s request to take up a spot in a top-secret government program to train female armed forces personnel as special forces enablers someone else left open because she had to drop out at the last minute. Apparently, Marines dropping out on short notice without the Corps being able to produce a replacement is considered really bad form, and that’s where she came in. And because she can _never_ say no to someone offering her an intense, off-the-record challenge, she just _had_ to go and spend the last six weeks in North Carolina, getting her ass kicked by overzealous Army Special Forces instructors.

It was fun, she has to give them that – and no, she wasn’t stupid enough to _tell_ the Army instructors that, she’s a Marine, not suicidal – especially because as a member of the SGC, she couldn’t stop secretly laughing about the instructors constantly telling them that they were currently part of _the_ most classified program in the entire US Armed Forces. But after the travel clusterfuck she just went through, all she wants is to go home and sleep for twelve hours and not leave the house for at least a week. She swears to God, the last twenty-four hours were worse than those six weeks of training or most of the things Atlantis and the SGC ever threw at her.

She’d been supposed to be back in The Springs yesterday, so that she could get her laundry and post-training clean-up sorted out at least marginally before setting off for Oregon to join her folks for Christmas. Instead, she got an extra dose of Murphy’s Law. Okay, maybe part of that is her fault for not wanting to spend almost two days on a damn Greyhound and instead opting for a nine hour flight that included two stopovers. Damn, she should have _known_ that stopovers meant possible points of fuck-up, especially if one of them included Salt Lake City in December.

Anyway, let it just be said that she will _never_ include Salt Lake City into her travel itinerary ever again and let it _just_ be said that… “Huh. _Someone_ looks like she really got screwed over by the Grinch.”

 _Jesus_ fucking Christ.

She’s not an easy one to startle but _he_ ’s really the last person she expected to meet at COS’s exit gate. He should be a galaxy away, _literally_. So really, it’s no surprise that the first thing she hears herself blurting out is a pretty annoyed, “What are _you_ doing here?”

He shrugs, and by now she knows him well enough to see that the nonchalance he displays is only semi-real. “I _was_ picking up my girlfriend at the airport but right now I’m not sure if that was such a good idea after all.”

Right.

She kinda deserved that.

After an eye-roll more aimed at herself than at him and a deep sigh, she tells him, trying to sound as apologetic as she feels, “Sorry, Evan. I just had a trip from hell.” Which is the understatement of the _year_. “Also, I thought you weren’t supposed to be back here for another three months.”

Unless, of course, he just told her he couldn’t get any more leave this year so he could surprise her. But really, he’s not the type for that, and that’s not how their relationship rolls. They’re all about being low-key and making do with the sparse time they get together and not making a fuss about that one hell of a long-distance relationship they’ve been trying to have for the last nine months. Big romantic gestures? Not so much.

Evan, for his part, confirms her suspicions that his being on Earth isn’t of the scheduled kind, and of the _good_ kind by doing that little clenching his jaw thing he likes to do when he’s really unhappy about something but thinks it’s neither the place nor the time to be open about it. And yep, she knows she’s on the right track when he says, not sounding particularly happy, “I’ll tell you on the way home.”

Okay. That sounds bad, actually. On the surface, it just sounded matter-of-fact but by now she knows him well enough to hear a lot more than he said. Disappointment, definitely. Irritation. _Resentment_? She frowns. “Are you okay?”

He presses his lips together. “In the car, okay?” Fine, yes, sure. In the car. Okay. “Laura.” What? “I’m not mad at _you_. I just can’t discuss it _here_.”

Oh. Huh. She can’t believe he realized her fear about _her_ having done something wrong before even she did. Wow. Either she’s more tired than she thought or he’s even better at reading her than she is at reading him. Figures. There’s a _reason_ why he managed to hold on to the post of Sheppard’s XO for over a year by now. Also, even worse, that means that there’s something really wrong with Atlantis if he’s here instead of a galaxy away, and visibly unhappy about it, too.

Damn. Now she really, _really_ wants to know what this is about. But because she’s a good Marine and recognizes an order to keep her damn trap shut when she hears it, she does something she should have done the minute she saw him standing at that exit gate, hands in his pockets, grinning at her kind of proud of having managed to startle _Laura “I blow things up for a living” Cadman_. She grins and leans forward, murmuring, “You do make a nice welcome committee, though,” and then kissing him.

He doesn’t hesitate kissing her back, and that at least tells her that whatever has him so upset has nothing do with her and wow, _someone_ really missed her. She _likes_ that. Which is why she can’t help grinning _while_ being kissed but sadly, that _stops_ him from continuing it and instead makes him say, “I’d certainly hope so,” with just a hint of that self-satisfied smugness other Air Force pilots possess and display in spades. He never flaunts that, only ever hints at it enough to make him just a little hotter. Another thing she likes about him, a _lot_.

“So,” he adds, taking her duffle out of her hand too fast for her to lodge a protest and slinging it over his back to walk back to the parking lot, “how was training?”

She can’t help snorting. Top secret government program her _ass_. So yes, Evan Lorne has an uncanny knack for knowing about all kinds of stuff he shouldn’t know anything about but really, that just adds to her suspicion that the Army couldn’t keep a secret if their damn lives depended on it. “Torrential rain, armies of mosquitos and back-breaking labor. Disgusting, actually.”

That makes him laugh, and she’s glad that for the moment, he decided to put whatever happened in Atlantis behind him. “You loved every minute of it.”

Oh please. _That_ was a no-brainer. “Of course I did.” She’d love telling him all about it, and she knows he’d listen and _enjoy_ it but really, that can wait. At least until she has one niggling question answered, “And how’d you know I’d arrive today?”

He grins at her, and she likes how the fact that he’s carrying a really heavy duffle bag doesn’t seem to impede him in any way _without_ him having to make a show of it. She had other boyfriends who could pull that off easily but _all_ of them made sure that she _knew_ how easy it was for them to carry that bit of luggage. There’s a reason none of them lasted longer than a couple weeks.

“I have my ways.” Uh-huh, right. What is that supposed to mean, anyway? She gives him a dead-pan look, and it has its desired effect. He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Your mother told me.”

What? “Wait, my _mother_ knew you were back stateside before I did? For how long _have_ you been back, anyway?”

“Three weeks.” Okay, fine. She’d been sort of out of touch during that time. “It _was_ a little hard reaching you in those North Carolina swamps?”

Yes, yes, alright. “Point taken.” His face tells her “of _course_ ” and for a moment, she kind of wants to wipe that smugness off with another kiss but that’s when they leave the airport and a fucking _wall_ of cold hits her right in the face. Holy crap, she never really managed to get used to just _how_ cold Colorado could get, and after spending the last six weeks at Fort Bragg, it feels even worse. And California Beach Boy next to her just keeps on walking towards the parking lot while she nearly retreats back into the airport because the cold makes it kinda hard to breathe for a moment, dammit.

He also very much looks like he wants to _say_ something really, really stupid and she glares at him, huffing, “Don’t even _think_ about saying it, Beach Boy.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, and the grin in his face tells her that he _very_ much _was_ , “but you gotta admit, it _is_ kind of funny.”

It’s _not_. There really is _nothing_ normal about Decembers in Colorado Spring. She’s from the _North_ _west_ , she should fucking know. Instead of an answer, she just levels another glare at him, and at least he didn’t park as far out as she was afraid. Apparently, he took her car, which tells her that he most probably didn’t get his own place but went to hers which is… weird. She did give him her key the last time they spend longer than a few hours with each other, six months ago, so that he didn’t have to sleep at the SGC whenever he was in town for any short-term Earth business and she was off-world. But they sure as hell didn’t talk about more or less moving _in_ with each… “You wanna keep standing around in the cold a few minutes longer or…”

Damn. Caught woolgathering by the guy who used to be her commanding officer. That’s always kind of embarrassing, no matter that they haven’t been in the same chain of command for roughly a year. She _knows_ he never stops expecting the best of his Airmen and Marines, even if they stop being _his_ Airmen and Marines. Frowning, she gets inside. She considers fighting him for the driver’s seat for a moment, but then again, it’s cold, it’s dark, it just started snowing, _again_ , and she’s too tired to entirely trust herself with her driving.

So she settles for the next best thing when he starts the engine. “So, who’s on your team?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to ask. He doesn’t answer right away, instead takes his time maneuvering the car out of the parking lot and takes a lot of care not to look at her. Uh-oh.

In the end, he waits until he’s well on the road to answer her. “No team.” No… team? “No SGC, either.”

“What?” That’s weird. What the _hell_ happened? “No team, no SGC? Where the hell are you based? The _Academy_?”

“Washington.” Huh? “D.C.” Okay. So not McChord. And that at least explains why he’s sleeping in her house. He didn’t move in, after all, then. Still leaves the question of where… “Homeworld Security.”

What. The. Fuck. She blinks. “They have you flying a _desk_?”

He slowly nods, eyes firmly on the road. “Yup,” and… that’s it.

He’s not the most verbose guy, that’s true, but usually he’s just a _little_ chattier than this. Which tells her that it’s really bad. “You’ve been at Homeworld Security for _three weeks_? What the hell _happened_ , Evan?”

She can see that he’d rather not talk about it, at least not in excruciating detail, when she looks at his profile. His jaw is working, and the lines in the corner of his eyes are a little more taught than usual and again, he takes his time with answering. Finally, he does, only a few blocks away from her home. “We lost Atlantis.” They… _what_? “Or rather, as Command framed it, we were ever so lucky to finally be able to give her back to her original owners.”

Huh? “Evan… you’re making zero sense.”

“Yeah,” he says, and she notices that just for a moment, his grip on the steering wheel is so hard that his knuckles stand out stark white in the neon lights lining the street, “that’s kind of what we thought, too, when they threw us out of the city.” Yeah, no, still not making any sense.

She tells him so, and that’s when he finally explains to her all about the Gate Bridge working and how they found an _Aurora_ -class Ancient warship and how its captain basically threw the Atlantis contingent out of the city and she can hear that he _tries_ to make a point of not being sarcastic about it, just telling her the story matter-of-factly but underneath it all, she can hear how much having to suddenly leave a place that he came to call _home_ , that he gave everything every day to protect upset and angered him.

Evan Lorne is, most of the time, an even-tempered man, but right now she’s pretty sure that the only reason she doesn’t get treated to a show of impressive temper – when he chooses to display it, he can match her pretty well in displeasure, she knows that – is that he has to focus on getting them home without accident. If he hadn’t, he’d definitely use a lot more voice and a _lot_ stronger vocabulary to explain the entire shit show that went down after they discovered the _Tria_ and her crew.

What she doesn’t get, though, is, “But why Homeworld Security? We’re fighting a damn war in the Milky Way. Why would they put someone like _you_ behind a fucking _desk_?”

Okay, that was probably the wrong question to just blurt out. Because he, being who he is, has probably been asking himself exactly that for the entire last three weeks, and since they both know Command well enough by now, the answer to that is probably nothing good.

He pulls up in front of her house, and she realizes how sad and lonely it looks as the lone one without any decoration on the front lawn or attached to the house. Probably matching his mood, and now hers, too. After a moment, he finally takes the hands of the wheel, and even though he tries to be discreet about it, she can see that he flexes each of them once or twice, confirming her suspicion that his grip must have been stronger than absolutely necessary.

“Honestly, Laura?” She looks at him, tempted very much to take one of his hands and put some of that strain away. “I don’t even know. I _suspect_ it’s because they wanted to separate key Atlantis personnel from each other so we wouldn’t do anything stupid but…”

“Why would anyone think that _you_ would do something stupid?” Because Evan Lorne sure as hell is about the _last_ person she’d ever expect to do something, _anything_ stupid. She has done a couple _really_ stupid things in the past, and she’ll probably do a couple more in the future, but that’s just who she is. Evan? Not so much.

He gives her a sarcastic little snort and makes a face. “Let’s just say that the mood among the Expedition wasn’t exactly jubilant at being sent back to Earth.”

Yeah, she can _definitely_ see _that_. She can actually practically _hear_ what some of the old hands in the USMC contingent – and oh God, some of the _scientists_ even more so – had to say about this, and it sure as hell was nothing good. Or polite. And okay, from Command’s perspective, it makes sense to split them up as much as they can. The more spread out any potential troublemakers are, the better. Still… Evan Lorne, a _troublemaker_? She frowns. “Still doesn’t explain why anyone would willingly pass up on your combat experience and have you do… whatever you’re doing in DC.”

“Yeah, well,” he says and rubs his neck, and usually, he only does that when he knows she’s not going to like what he’s about to tell her, “it was either me or Sheppard.”

Oh hell. That damn dutiful, self-sacrificing idiot, practically having “Integrity First, Service Before Self, Excellence In All We Do” tattooed on his damn forehead. Of _course_ he’d _volunteer_ for the desk posting if it was either him or _John fucking Sheppard_ – she’s positive that he never even let Sheppard half-heartedly offer himself up and volunteered to not give him any ideas in the first place – for the sake of almost everyone involved, including the damn SGC. Sacrificing a chance to get his own SGC team, probably even one of the one-digits, sacrificing a chance to get an even more impressive combat record…

Sacrificing a chance to serve with her again.

 _Dammit_. “Evan…”

“I know, okay, I _know_.” Right. Of course he also thought _that_ through. “I’m sorry. I really _wanted_ an SGC posting but…” He shrugs a little helplessly and gets out of the car, walking over to the trunk.

Yeah. She gets it, that’s the worst part. He thought it through, and came to the conclusion that _someone_ had to bite the bullet of a desk posting deep in the bowels of Homeworld Security, and it sure as hell wasn’t _Sheppard_. Damn decent man. With a small sound of disgust – mostly at herself for not really being able to be even a little bit mad – she gets out of the car herself and can _just_ keep him from shouldering her backpack _and_ carrying the duffle bag.

On the way to her dark and kind of sad little house, she tries very hard from shivering even in her winter utilities and instead concentrates on telling him, “You know… I’m not even that mad, actually.” He looks at her, and in the light of the decorations on the front lawns to either side of hers, she can see him give her a tentative little hopeful smile. Ugh. “Dammit, I hate you and your damn sense of duty.”

“Nah,” he drawls in a passable Sheppard imitation while unlocking her front door, “we both know you don’t mean that.”

She can’t resist a punch to his shoulder. “I’ll give you “you don’t mean that”, Beach Boy.”

“Shit, Northwestern, that was a perfectly good arm!” Evan Lorne is probably the only one in the entire US Armed Forces who chose _not_ to go for a nickname based on either her love for explosives or her explosive temper or, worst of all, a combination of both, but instead went straight for her alma mater. Another thing she liked about him, right from the start. She liked a _lot_ of things about him right from the start. Maybe _that_ should have been a clue when she wondered why her relationship with Carson only lasted for four months despite serving in the same city and her relationship with Evan has been lasting for nine solid months, despite not being in the same galaxy for most of the time.

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll survive.” Dammit, what’s taking him so long, anyway? “Unlike me, if you don’t let me in in the next thirty seconds.”

Thankfully for him, he finally manages to unlock and open her slightly stubborn front door and she stumbles into a surprisingly blessedly warm house and… “You… decorated?”

Damn well he did. She distinctly remembers _not_ putting anything up before hastily leaving for six weeks at Bragg and regretting that she she’d be returning to a cold and a little lonely and _definitely_ un-festive house in Colorado Springs. And now there’s two stockings at the fireplace and some holly and fairy lights wound around the doorframe to her bedroom exactly where she would have put them and even a small tree in a corner in her living room.

He shrugs again but she can see that he’d just love to grin at her instead of feigning nonchalance. “I’ve been holed up here for three days. I needed _something_ to do, and they wouldn’t let me have a shift at the SGC.”

In the frame of their relationship, the appropriate reaction would probably be rolling her eyes and telling him he did a decent enough job but she was never really one for _appropriate_ reactions, so she decides to go with the _right_ reaction which is beaming at him and telling him, “I love you, Evan Lorne.”

“A minute ago you said you hate me. Really, you gotta make up your mind, Northwestern.” Right. She just told him that she loves him, kind of on accident, and _that_ ’s what he has to… Oh. He wasn’t finished, apparently. Because he just leaned in and kissed her and then went to murmur, absolutely serious, without a trace of sarcasm, “I love you, too, Laura Cadman.”

Okay. That’s kind of… too much for her right now. She’s too tired after her cross-country odyssey and too frazzled by the news about Atlantis to get together any coherent response, and that’s why she gives him the most stupid response she could come up with, that being, “I uh… I think I need a shower.”

“Yeah,” he says and she can’t quite determine whether he’s trying not to laugh or not to be too disappointed with her response, “you go get that shower. I’ll just… you know…”

She doesn’t but this has reached new heights of awkwardness – which is really kind of pissing her off because _awkwardness_ so far _hasn’t_ been a part of their relationship, except at the very beginning – and she takes the very convenient way out of here by dumping her backpack in the hall and disappearing into her bedroom to get something that’s decidedly unsexy and decidedly comfortable. Yes, that’s boring and, according to all the women’s magazines her platoon sergeant at the SGC loves to read, the “death of passion” and thus “the death of any relationship” but it _is_ well after 2000 on Christmas Day, and she just came home from six weeks of special forces training and a cross-country journey from hell. Women’s magazines can kiss her ass.

At least, after the shower, and wearing a Northwestern NROTC hoodie and yoga pants instead of utilities, she feels human enough to get back into the living room and see if her less than stellar reaction to him very seriously telling her, for the first time ever, that he loves her has left any more residual unease.

Boy Scout that he is, he has apparently used the time to put away her luggage, get a fire going in the fireplace and… make dinner? “Don’t get too excited, it’s just box mix mac’n’cheese.”

She scoffs. “As if I’d ever say no to _any_ kind of mac’n’cheese.”

“Good point,” he tells her grinning knowingly and puts a plate on the kitchen counter in front of her, then serves himself and sits down kitty corner to her.

Digging in and, yes, talking with her mouth full, she decides to do what he did and sort of goes back to business as usual, as if no one here told anyone anything of importance in passing earlier. “So, Sheppard’s at the SGC now?” He nods, _not_ talking with his mouth full. Damn educated zoomies. “Please tell me _Rodney_ isn’t, too.”

He swallows, then gives her a reassuring grin. “Rodney is not at the SGC.” She waits for him to tell her that yes, that was a joke and that Rodney of _course_ is at the SGC, too but apparently, they were _serious_ about splitting up the command staff because he adds, “Last I heard, he’s terrorizing the staff at Area 51.”

“I’ll send my condolences right after I’m back from the holidays.” She means that. She has friends at Area 51, and she is _genuinely_ sorry for them now having to work with Rodney McKay as their boss. He’s a genius, but he’s a goddamn HR and subordinate nightmare, and she can sympathize with everyone having to work under him. She _really_ knows what she’s talking about. Anyway, “What about Dr. Weir?”

He makes a face. That bad, huh? “Honestly? No one knows. I _think_ she went back to D.C. but she vanished from everyone’s radar. I mean, Sheppard asked _me_ if I’ve heard from her recently, so…” He shrugs. Yeah. That’s not exactly a good sign.

She frowns. “Losing Atlantis must have hit her pretty hard, considering it was _her_ show all the way, huh?” He nods. But well, if not even Colonel Sheppard knows where she is, everything Evan could tell her at this point would be pure speculation so she decides not to pressure him and move on. “What about the rest?”

He shrugs again. “All over the place. Homeworld Security, Area 51, the SGC, service academies, Big Air Force, Big Corps, back to their home countries…” Then he frowns. Uh-oh. “Carson’s at the SGC.”

Of _course_. It would be _just_ her luck that her _current_ boyfriend decides to take one for the team and sets up shop several thousand miles across the country from her while her _ex_ -boyfriend ends up serving at the same command as she. Figures. She actually winces. “Well, _that’s_ gonna make for an interesting time once I’m back.”

That’s probably the understatement of the year, and they both know it. Evan doesn’t know _exactly_ what happened between Carson and her but he knows that she ended it and that it made for a lot of awkwardness between Carson and her. He _was_ her commanding officer and Carson’s patient at that time. It’s not like anything really terrible or painful went down between Carson and her and theoretically, they ended it amicably and like civilized people but she always felt kind of bad for dumping someone as genuinely nice and caring and all around good guy like Carson. But it just hadn’t worked out and she’d had a bad feeling that he was ready to take their relationship to the next level, and _that_ definitely _would_ have ended in a not so amicably way.

Yeah, well. There’s no getting around it, and as her NROTC battalion commander always liked to say, “The only way out is through” and all that and so she just rolls her eyes and gives him a little sigh when Evan clears the dishes and then tells her, “Could be worse. Could be _Rodney_ ,” while briefly hugging her from behind with one arm around her shoulders and putting a quick kiss to the crook of her neck. Mh. She wouldn’t mind if he kept doing… okay. Fine. Couch. Couch, it is.

He sits down, putting up his feet on her coffee table and she ignores it because she likes the fact that correct and polite Evan Lorne feels enough at home in her little house that he lets himself relax enough for something like that and instead of scolding him like she usually does just sits down next to him and leans into him, feeling his arm come around her shoulders. Okay. That’s nice, too. Not exactly as sexy as that little casual kiss back at the counter but really, really nice.

Nice enough that she can say, “I’m sorry for the shit show they put you and the others through in the last couple weeks.”

He drops a little kiss on the top of her head. “It’s fine.” Uh-huh, right. “Okay, it’s not. But you know how it is. The Air Force says “jump”, and we ask “how high” and that’s it. ‘Sides, it’s not your fault.” Of course it’s not. Still. She _chose_ to leave Atlantis at the end of her extended tour, despite Sheppard offering her another one, and the only reason _that_ didn’t feel as shitty as she feared it would was that she already had a posting as an EOD platoon leader at the SGC lined up. Being _forced_ to leave Atlantis without really knowing where to go… well. “And I really am sorry for going to D.C.”

Ah hell. She rolls her eyes and gives his chest a little reassuring rub before putting her arm around his midriff, finally feeling the stress of the journey and six weeks of running on little to no sleep catching up with her. “’S okay, Evan. I get it. Taking one for the team is who you are.” It really is. And the truth is that she wouldn’t love him the way she does if he weren’t. “I just hope _someone_ further up the chain of command appreciates that at some point.” Also, “And it’s still a hell of a lot closer than Pegasus. Going cross-country’s gonna be a bitch but at least it’s the same _planet_.”

“Yup,” he agrees and then says something really weird, “Which reminds me. I got you something.” And just like that he gets up and leaves her on the sofa, confused and more than a little miffed that her really nice and warm and comfortable pillow decided to go get “something” and…

 _What_ is that?

Slowly, very deliberately, he places a foreign object on her coffee table and then sits down on the couch, half turned towards her, his forearms on his thighs and his hands clasped. When she stares first at the object and then at him, all he does is shrug and rub his neck a little embarrassedly and then gesturing a little helplessly back at the coffee table. She looks at the object again.

It’s a small cube, covered with black velvet. The stereotypical ring casing. The stereotypical casing you use for the stereotypical engagement ring. And all she can do is stare at it.

Stare at it without seeing it. Instead, she sees that meeting in an SGC corridor, three months after she’d left Atlantis. She sees him again as she comes stomping around the corner, pissed off about one of her platoon members for making her Article 15 the guy’s ass, hears him say hello and look a little put off when she doesn’t even acknowledge him in her righteous platoon leader’s fury. She sees herself stopping and apologizing lamely and him smiling and asking her if she has finally gained a finer appreciation for the trials and tribulations of command and she hears herself answering that he can stick his trials and tribulations where it’s dark. And she still wonders what, in God’s name, made him laugh instead of going over her backside with a wire brush, like she’d deserved for that kind of comeback.

And she remembers that that good-natured laugh was the reason why she sat across from him during lunch later and why she jokingly suggested she show him the local club scene when he let it slip that he was getting beyond bored by all the meetings he had to attend and probably also why they ended up in a tiny Korean bistro, talking for hours on the last night of his three day business trip to Earth and _most probably_ why she let him walk her home and kiss her after the most awkward five minutes of her entire life.

After that, nine months of writing and video messages on DVDs and e-mails and a few stolen hours every time he was at the SGC and two weeks in Florida when he was on leave and disagreements, too because she’s not the most agreeable type of person sometimes, and quite frankly, he isn’t either and make-up sex and getting way too worried for “low-key, not making a fuss” when hearing that the other one got into some scrape or other and didn’t get out without a scratch and somehow making it through two-hundred and seventy-eight days of the long-distance relationship from _hell_.

Maybe it wasn’t so low-key, after all. Maybe it was really, really high-key. Maybe this relationship is the most high-key relationship she ever had. Maybe this is, after all, the one relationship that’s high-key enough that she never wants to have another one but this.

Well. Yeah. Yeah, it very definitely is.

She reaches for the coffee table. And she smiles.


End file.
